Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

”If someone had told you three or four years ago that Xabi Alonso and Michael Essien would one day be teammates, I think most fans—not just Premier League fans—would’ve struggled to picture the scene we’re seeing right now. But here it is!

Once fierce rivals on the Premier League and Champions League stages, two of the top midfielders in the world are now standing side by side, reliable partners in the heart of the pitch.

And to see Leon starting alongside these two legends—I feel lucky. Just like I did when I saw him play with Pirlo and Gattuso back in Milan!”

He Wei, barely able to suppress his excitement and awe, offered his commentary with heartfelt emotion.

He was commentating solo for this Copa del Rey match. Had Xu Yang been alongside him, he surely would’ve gone on and on with amazement.

Many Chinese fans found it hard to believe as well.

Premier League followers especially remembered just how brutal the battles were between Chelsea and Liverpool during those years.

Now, seeing Essien and Alonso both in white, fighting for Real Madrid, felt surreal. All those old-school Premier League fans could do was sigh:

”In football, never say never.”

”If only Gerrard had agreed to leave Liverpool…” Mourinho muttered to himself.

He was immensely proud of the midfield unit he had assembled, but he still regretted never being able to convince Gerrard to join him.

Back at Chelsea, he’d tried. Then again at Inter. And now, one more attempt at Real Madrid.

Imagine it—Gerrard as the centerpiece of this lineup. It would’ve been perfect.

But Liverpool’s captain had once again refused to leave.

Gerrard had made the heroic decision to stay, to drag Liverpool forward with whatever strength he had left, instead of chasing trophies in Madrid.

Mourinho respected it, deeply. But he couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

Glancing over at Khedira, who was starting at center-mid today, Mourinho’s sense of satisfaction dropped a few notches.

But what could he do? He had once confidently insisted on signing Khedira, believing he could mold him into a midfield beast.

One of the midfielders he had wanted was already gone. He had no choice but to use the other—even if it meant gritting his teeth.

Just make it through the season...

As Mourinho pulled himself back from his thoughts, the referee’s whistle sounded.

”The match is underway! Zhuang Dian Er Tai, Zhuang Dian Er Tai!” He Wei quickly rolled through his opening line before diving into a breakdown of today’s starting formations.

For Madrid, there wasn’t much mystery. Chinese fans who’d been watching this team all season already knew Mourinho’s usual picks.

Coentrão was back from injury, and with Marcelo having locked down the left-back spot in recent weeks, this match gave Coentrão a chance to reclaim his role.

Mourinho preferred Coentrão’s defensive solidity to Marcelo’s aggressive forays forward.

Ramos and Pepe remained the iron-clad center-back pairing.

Unless one of them got injured or dropped form, they were immovable.

Arbeloa was still first-choice at right-back.

As for strikers, Mourinho once again paired Benzema with Ronaldo.

Compared to Higuaín, Benzema had better movement and link-up play—making him the perfect foil for Ronaldo’s explosive finishing.

Last season, Mourinho had favored Higuaín, who was untouchable when fit.

But now, with Ronaldo in peak form and scoring like crazy, things had changed.

Let’s be honest—Benzema made for a better supporting actor.

Athletic Bilbao lined up in a classic 4-4-2.

Up top: Llorente and Susaeta.

Their midfield? Solid and gritty—Javi Martínez, Muniain, Iturraspe, and Ander Herrera.

Defensively, it was Aurtenetxe, De Marcos, Amorebieta, and Iraola—an experienced back line that had conceded just 20 goals in 18 rounds.

Not bad at all for a mid-table team.

In goal stood the veteran Gorka Iraizoz.

It was a lineup that perfectly matched Bilbao’s reputation as a tough, no-nonsense La Liga side.

Up front, they had the classic tall-and-fast strike duo, with Llorente netting 40+ goals and 10 assists over the past two seasons.

They weren’t a high-scoring side, but Llorente gave them a consistent outlet who could deliver when it mattered.

Their back line wasn’t elite, but solid enough. The real danger lay in their midfield.

Javi Martínez was that good.

His partnership with Iturraspe was probably second only to Alonso and Leon in all of La Liga.

Every top team in Spain was eyeing Martínez. But Athletic had refused to sell.

And it wasn’t a bluff.

They weren’t just trying to drive up the price. They genuinely didn’t want to sell.

Even when Madrid offered €30 million during the winter transfer window, Bilbao didn’t flinch.

This was the winter window, after all. A €30 million bid was significant.

But Bilbao’s board didn’t budge. For them, Martínez and Llorente were untouchables.

Martínez himself wasn’t opposed to joining Madrid—he just wouldn’t force a move.

So Mourinho backed off.

He liked Martínez. But shelling out €40 million to trigger his release clause was just too steep.

And so, Mourinho pivoted—toward Villas-Boas and Abramovich, to negotiate Essien’s loan.

None of Madrid’s players knew just how close Martínez had come to joining them.

Leon certainly didn’t.

Early in the match, he collided head-on with Martínez in a bone-crunching midfield duel—one that neither man backed down from.

Well, in an aerial duel, Leon didn’t win this time—Martínez had a clear physical advantage. But even after feeling the brute strength of Martínez’s challenge, Leon wasn’t discouraged in the slightest.

On the contrary, he had expected it. After all, there weren’t many players in the world who understood Javi Martínez’s full potential better than Leon.

Before the match, Mourinho had asked him to push forward more, especially to support Ronaldo by supplying the left wing in place of Coentrão, who offered less attacking thrust than Marcelo.

So Leon sought out the confrontation early—not to dominate it, but to probe his opponent.

Once he’d gotten a read, he quickly adjusted his approach.

”Use the wings, play with speed—don’t go head-to-head. If I waste too much time battling him directly, how am I going to link up with Ronaldo?”

After receiving the ball from Alonso again, Leon didn’t immediately push up. He instead dribbled laterally and called Khedira back to offer support.

Seeing Khedira sprint over, Leon started driving forward.

As Martínez stepped up to pressure, Leon quickly released the ball diagonally to Khedira and then accelerated wide on the overlap.

Martínez, for his size, was incredibly agile—but even he couldn’t rotate fast enough.

Khedira’s return pass was perfectly weighted, and Leon blew past Martínez in a flash.

Iturraspe came flying in from deep, but Leon wasn’t even there anymore—he’d already played the ball.

As soon as he freed himself from Martínez, Leon spotted the opportunity and threaded a precise through ball behind Athletic’s defensive line.

That was his job.

And in that series of touches and movement, Bilbao’s usually formidable midfield screen was completely bypassed.

Commentators couldn’t help but praise Leon’s intelligence.

Ronaldo latched onto the ball and, without hesitation, fired a low cross into the box.

Unfortunately, Benzema couldn’t win the header.

Amorebieta, towering at 1.92 meters, reminded Benzema that brute strength still mattered.

But Madrid had seen enough through these early attacking sequences to begin adapting.

Bilbao had aerial dominators all over their spine—not as many as Madrid, but just as effective.

Ramos began challenging Llorente more aggressively, refusing to give him room to jump.

And Madrid focused more on quick ground passes, cutting back on long balls.

Alonso orchestrated from deep. Essien provided passing lanes and formed the first line of midfield defense.

Leon and Khedira linked the lines.

Khedira made more forward runs, often drifting to the right to support Benzema.

Leon’s mission was simpler: feed Ronaldo.

With Essien shielding Alonso, Leon had freedom to focus on being Ronaldo’s supplier—his designated creator.

By moving Leon’s position forward, Mourinho also minimized the weaknesses in his long-range passing.

High work rate, rapid recovery, and pinpoint short passing—that was enough for today.

And with Leon’s sharp positioning, he constantly intercepted Bilbao’s attempts to counter down the left.

His ”mini all-rounder” role essentially froze half of Bilbao’s midfield.

On top of that, Leon consistently found Ronaldo, who stayed high and wide—pulling defenders and putting constant pressure on the flank.

”Mourinho has found a way to fully utilize Leon! We used to think his advanced role was just for neutralizing opposition playmakers. But look at this—he’s developing all sorts of new attacking tricks!”

He Wei’s tone brightened as Leon’s influence on the game grew.

The better Leon played, the more frustrated Bielsa and the Bilbao squad became.

Their plan had been straightforward: Madrid would go all-out attack at home. Bilbao’s four-man midfield, with superior pressing, would win balls and counter through Llorente’s hold-up play.

And as for Alonso’s long diagonals? Other teams feared them—Bilbao didn’t.

With Martínez and Amorebieta in the back, Madrid wouldn’t find it easy to hit runners in stride. At least, that was the theory.

But now, Bielsa realized Mourinho had anticipated everything.

Madrid weren’t launching long balls. They were attacking on the ground, pinning down Llorente, and taking away his aerial presence.

Sure, they were using two strikers instead of three. But when one of those two had already scored over twenty league goals this season...

Well, if you were defending against a superstar striker like that, your best bet was to not let him see the ball at all.

Bielsa knew his team couldn’t manage that.

If they had a defense that good, they’d be top four—not seventh.

So Bielsa started to worry.

Because he didn’t know when Ronaldo would explode.

Mourinho was waiting too—waiting for Leon or Khedira to create a clear opening.

Just one good delivery to give Ronaldo a clean shot at Bilbao’s back line.

But the opportunity didn’t come from Leon or Khedira.

It came from the flank.

In the 27th minute, amid a tense midfield tug-of-war, Essien suddenly made a darting run forward.

Leon, holding the ball and seeing Athletic’s midfield slightly disorganized, moved centrally to combine with Essien.

But as Bilbao’s midfield collapsed toward the center, Leon did something unexpected.

He turned and quickly pinged the ball back to the left side—where there was open space.

Coentrão, who had stayed back most of the half, now surged forward with purpose.

After receiving the ball from Leon, he charged straight down the right flank guarded by Iraola.

Ronaldo first made an overlapping run, but when he saw that Coentrão had no intention of passing, he immediately understood what his fellow Portuguese was planning.

Ronaldo paused deliberately, allowing Coentrão to pass before him, then accelerated sharply, cutting inside.

Iraola, already backing off under Coentrão’s pressure, instinctively sensed something was wrong as Ronaldo shifted direction—but before he could shout a warning to his teammates in the middle, Coentrão had already made the pass.

Ronaldo received the ball and cut further inside. Amorebieta marked Benzema in the box while De Marcos rushed forward to apply pressure on Ronaldo.

”Here, Chris!”

Just as Ronaldo was about to go it alone, a familiar voice called out from the side.

Without hesitation, Ronaldo flicked the ball back with the outside of his boot and darted past De Marcos like a panther, accelerating into the box.

The player who had called out didn’t stop either—in one smooth motion, he fired a low through ball forward.

The combination was seamless—pure telepathy.

Ronaldo took the pass in stride and, with ruthless precision, fired a low shot into the near corner.

Keeper Iraizoz reacted late, and by the time he dove, the ball had already skipped inside the post and into the net!

Ronaldo turned and spread his arms wide, grinning as the Bernabéu exploded in celebration.

And the young man who passed him the ball? Smiling just as brightly, Leon ran over and hugged him tightly.

From initiating the attack to delivering the deadly assist, Leon’s execution had been flawless.

No flashy, world-class technique—just logical, efficient decision-making and perfect timing.

The final pass was sharp and comfortable—perfect for Ronaldo to strike without breaking stride.

Veteran La Liga fans watching were momentarily struck by déjà vu.

That style—it felt so familiar!

When Leon had been orchestrating from deep, it wasn’t obvious. But now, with his role pushed higher, the shadow of a midfield maestro from years past suddenly reappeared in their minds.

Valerón!

The same focus on logical attack paths, the clean and crisp short passes, the razor-sharp through balls…

”Could it be true what the media once reported—that Leon went to Deportivo to study under Valerón?”

Many old La Liga fans began wondering—correctly, as it turned out.

In the thunderous arena, Leon and Ronaldo, arms draped over each other, celebrated with their teammates.

On the sideline, Mourinho laughed and embraced Karanka.

Essien had exceeded expectations in his first thirty minutes on the pitch.

He wasn’t covering as much ground as he once did, but his protection of Alonso had been solid, and his passing was crisp—certainly more compatible than Lassana Diarra had been.

With Essien mopping up, Leon had the freedom to push forward, and the results showed immediately.

Conversely, if Leon were to play deeper in the future, a fit Essien could take over the forward thrust—allowing the two to rotate and cover for each other.

Once they built that chemistry, Khedira might be relegated to the bench entirely.

Madrid’s players, buoyed by the goal, jogged back into position.

Mourinho wasted no time adjusting tactics, shifting the formation into a 4-5-1.

Leon dropped deeper again to partner Alonso, Ronaldo moved to the wing, Essien stayed central, Khedira shifted right, and Benzema remained up front.

Athletic’s players looked at Madrid’s suddenly overstuffed midfield and groaned inwardly.

You’re already ahead—now you’re strengthening midfield and preparing to counter? Seriously?

Bielsa had expected Mourinho’s adjustment. He could only chuckle bitterly.

But Bielsa was still Bielsa. Even if tactically cornered, he wouldn’t just roll over.

At his signal, Athletic’s players roared with renewed energy.

They would attack—right at the Bernabéu.

The Basque Lions might be defeated, but they would never bow.

Madrid’s players quickly realized their opponents were not backing down.

And the best way to respect a determined opponent was to go all out themselves.

Athletic’s midfield was hard to break, so Madrid switched to flanking attacks and inside channel runs—using their technical edge to push the tempo.

But neither side had much luck with scoring in the rest of the half, and Madrid took a 1-0 lead into the break.

At the start of the second half, Mourinho subbed in Di María for Khedira, switching back to the two-wing attack.

Athletic finally began to unravel.

Within ten minutes, Di María was torching Aurtenetxe one-on-one.

Madrid’s wide attack overwhelmed the left flank, forcing Bilbao to shift defensive resources.

And that freed up Ronaldo on the right, like a beast unleashed.

In the 63rd minute, Ronaldo collected a pass from Benzema just outside the box and rifled in an unstoppable shot—another goal!

At 2-0, the match was effectively sealed.

Madrid closed it out 3-0, denying Bilbao a single away goal and planting one foot firmly in the Copa del Rey semifinals.

Meanwhile, Barcelona, back in form, had crushed Mallorca 5-1 in their own quarterfinal first leg. Their second leg would be even easier.

Since both teams had been drawn into opposite brackets, there was no chance of a premature El Clásico.

Barring any major upsets, the Copa del Rey final would once again be the grand showdown: Real Madrid vs. Barcelona.

La Liga fans were slowly getting used to it.

In the past two seasons, both Real Madrid and Barcelona had taken their dominance to absurd new levels. Whether in the league or the Copa del Rey, games against other teams had become relatively easy affairs.

Expecting teams like Espanyol or Valencia to suddenly knock out either of the two giants over two legs? Nearly impossible.

Besides, who didn’t love a Clásico? Fans were actually hoping to see Madrid and Barça clash as often as possible, just like last season. The more matches, the better.

A Copa del Rey final between these two was something to look forward to—provided they didn’t play out another 0-0 stalemate like last year.

With the latest round of Copa del Rey matches wrapped up, the focus shifted back to La Liga.

Because of the labor dispute at the start of the season, the league’s first round had been postponed. That makeup match was finally scheduled now.

But with that fixture now taking up the slot, matchday 20 had to be pushed back to May.

In a weird twist of fate, that turned out to be somewhat good news for Madrid.

Why? Because their matchups for rounds 1 and 20 were both against Athletic Bilbao.

If those games had been played back-to-back, Madrid would’ve faced Bilbao four times in ten days—two in the league, two in the cup.

That would’ve left both teams utterly drained.

Now, at least, it was only three matches in a short span—not four. Slightly better.

On January 22, after a brief three-day rest post-Copa match, Madrid hosted Athletic at the Bernabéu once again.

Before kickoff, Mourinho and Bielsa shared a knowing, helpless hug.

And during the game, Athletic gave Madrid a ”surprise.”

Learning from their Copa del Rey loss, Bielsa went bold, rolling out a 3-5-2 formation for the league match.

Mourinho didn’t see that coming. Usually the one laying tactical traps, he now found himself outfoxed.

Madrid lined up in their usual 4-3-3, which left them undermanned in midfield.

Bilbao used their numbers to suffocate Madrid’s central build-up, pressing them deep into their own half.

Martínez and Llorente dominated in the air as Bilbao launched a barrage of crosses from both flanks.

Madrid’s players were clearly rattled by this simple, direct strategy.

In the 11th minute, Llorente drew both of Madrid’s center-backs, Ramos and Pepe, into a duel.

That opened space for Martínez to head a cross down for Susaeta.

The same Susaeta who had been locked down by Alonso in the last match now calmly controlled the ball and slotted it into the far corner.

Casillas never saw it. His view was completely blocked by his own teammates. By the time the ball passed, it was too late to dive.

Bilbao went wild.

Their players screamed in celebration. Their fans erupted at the Bernabéu.

Commentators were stunned. Madrid fans couldn’t believe it.

They’d conceded a goal so early? And to such a basic attack?

Casillas could only shake his head. He couldn’t blame himself—or anyone else. Ramos and Pepe had done their job shutting down Llorente, and Martínez hadn’t gone for goal directly.

But who would’ve guessed Susaeta would strike so cleanly from that angle?

Leon didn’t even have time to shout encouragement. He glanced at the sideline.

Mourinho calmly shook his head and gestured forward. Keep attacking.

Leon didn’t understand at first. But when play resumed and he saw that Bilbao wasn’t retreating—that they wanted to fight fire with fire—it clicked.

Bielsa had made his choice. After trying to defend in the cup and failing, he was going all in for the league game.

Mourinho had seen it and was already adjusting.

Bilbao’s back three meant they had midfield superiority. But if Madrid could break through the midfield press, their backline would be wide open.

Mourinho believed Madrid could win a shootout.

So did Leon, once he understood the plan.

Alonso immediately got to work, controlling the tempo and spraying the ball to the flanks.

Leon pushed higher. Granero, starting today, also stayed on the front foot.

With both of them supporting the attack, Madrid’s offense quickly found its rhythm.

But Bilbao’s midfielders were tireless. Their five-man unit played full-pitch pressing, tracking back just as fast as they attacked.

And Higuaín?

He stayed glued to the box.

Instead of dropping to help relieve pressure on the wingers, he remained inside the penalty area, clearly aiming to finish any crosses.

But in nearly twenty minutes, he didn’t produce a single real shot.

De Marcos stuck to him like glue. On high crosses, Higuaín had no chance against the towering Amorebieta.

Madrid’s buildup remained organized. They carved out a few decent chances. But when it came to the final touch, they lacked precision.

Higuaín refused to move—refused to drag defenders with him—and that left Ronaldo and Di María with fewer opportunities to cut in.

Mourinho saw it.

He gave Higuaín thirty minutes.

Thirty full minutes. And when the striker still hadn’t figured it out, Mourinho made the call.

”Oh! A substitution! Mourinho signals for a change—Benzema is at the sideline. Is he coming on for Higuaín?”

Xu Yang called it first, commentating alongside He Wei once again.

He Wei let out a breath. Finally.

”Finally got Higuaín off the pitch. His mindset was off today—he really needed to calm down.”

Of course, He Wei wouldn’t say that out loud during the live broadcast.

Seeing Higuaín leave the field looking frustrated, he still offered a few words of sympathy, guessing that the striker might just be having an off day.

But once Benzema came on and immediately improved Madrid’s attacking efficiency, He Wei went quiet about Higuaín.

Benzema had already proven with his play that this wasn’t a matter of form—it was a matter of mentality and self-awareness.

If there had been more time left in the first half, maybe Ronaldo really would’ve equalized, with Benzema’s help pulling defenders away.

Athletic Bilbao had pushed themselves to the limit with their all-out first-half performance, and their energy levels dropped fast.

Still, they came out of halftime pressing hard again, disrupting Madrid’s rhythm.

By the 56th, 57th minute, the Basque Lions were finally forced to ease off, their claws dulled.

Bielsa saw his players tiring. After some hesitation, he opted to pull them back and defend for a stretch.

That was all Madrid needed.

Leon and Granero quickly took control at the top of the center circle.

Llorente and Susaeta dropped back to harass Madrid’s buildup, but their pressure was only enough to annoy—not to stop.

With the roar of the Bernabéu behind them, Madrid pressed forward, launching wave after wave of attacks.

Athletic parked three midfielders just in front of the penalty area—Martínez, San José, and Iturraspe.

Herrera and Muniain dropped wide to act as makeshift wingbacks.

Madrid tried to break through with passing for ten more minutes, but it wasn’t working.

So Ronaldo and Di María began taking matters into their own hands—dribbling to create space and firing from outside the box.

In the 68th minute, Mourinho brought on Essien for Granero, reinforcing Madrid’s perimeter artillery.

In the 75th minute, Leon teed up Essien, who took a shot from about 33 meters out—his first since coming on.

Iraizoz didn’t dare take chances and palmed it out for a corner.

Madrid’s aerial threats gathered once more.

Ten minutes earlier, Pepe had nearly scored from a corner, his header skimming just over the bar.

This time, with Pepe, Ramos, Leon, Benzema, and Ronaldo all pushing into the box, Athletic’s defenders were on edge.

They had only three strong aerial defenders. Even man-marking left them short.

Leon stood beside De Marcos. Martínez was stuck marking Ronaldo and couldn’t cover both.

At the corner flag, Di María raised his arm, then whipped in a low, fast, skimming cross toward the near post.

Going to the crowded center or back post would’ve made it harder for Madrid’s attackers. The near post made sense.

Leon read it instantly and peeled off toward the edge of the box.

At the near post, Ramos out-jumped Herrera and flicked the ball on with a looping header.

Benzema, still marked by Amorebieta, couldn’t shake free, and Iraizoz punched the ball clear.

Chaos reigned in the box.

Essien, stationed at the top of the arc, held off Muniain and calmly chested the ball down.

He quickly nudged it to the right edge of the box.

And there—unnoticed by almost everyone—stood Leon.

He stopped the ball effortlessly.

Took a small step, shaping to shoot…

Every Athletic defender froze. They remembered that rocket he fired against Real Sociedad.

De Marcos lunged. Martínez braced to block.

But it was a fake!

Leon’s raised leg dropped—and instead of shooting, he lofted a perfect cross to the far post!

”Leon fakes the shot—sends it wide! Far post!”

He Wei couldn’t help but shout.

And there was Ronaldo, muscling free from San José at the last second.

Before Amorebieta could arrive to help, Ronaldo soared into the air and smashed the header toward the center of goal!

Iraizoz guessed far post. Wrong.

He could only watch as the ball hit the back of the net.

77th minute!

Leon assists. Ronaldo scores. Madrid equalizes—1-1!

The Bernabéu roared like a volcano erupting.

Ronaldo and Leon didn’t celebrate.

Ronaldo grabbed the ball. Leon raised his arms and shouted to his teammates—get back, let’s go again!

On the sideline, Mourinho punched the air and roared.

Then he turned and called for Callejón.

Before play resumed, Madrid had already made their final substitution.

Callejón on. Arbeloa off. A forward for a defender—classic Mourinho when chasing a win.

Across the pitch, Bielsa saw the goal and threw up his hands.

There would be no more attacking.

He sent on defender Ekiza, Koikili, and midfielder Iñigo Pérez.

”They’re bunkering! They’re going to park the bus! We have to push harder!”

Leon clapped and shouted, rallying Madrid.

They weren’t done yet.

Real Madrid wasted no time after the restart, launching an all-out press against Athletic Bilbao the moment play resumed.

As soon as they won possession, they poured forward into attack. If they lost the ball, they immediately swarmed the opposition in counter-press.

The relentless momentum electrified the Bernabéu crowd, who unleashed a torrent of jeers at Bilbao’s time-wasting tactics.

But the Basque side didn’t care anymore.

All they wanted was to hold on to this hard-earned point.

They flopped, fouled, shielded, delayed—every time-wasting trick in the book. Watching at home, Madrid fans were livid.

Leon forced himself to stay calm.

His teammates up front still needed him and Alonso to orchestrate the attack. Anyone else could panic—but not them.

”My advantage... my stamina!”

After a quick calculation, Leon made a bold decision.

He received a pass from Callejón, who had just failed on a wing break, then scanned the field and slowly carried the ball forward.

Iturraspe, drenched in sweat, stepped up to close down his space. In a flash, Leon pushed the ball wide down the sideline!

He was going to take Iturraspe head-on!

If this had been the start of the match, Mourinho would’ve been livid about such a risky move.

But now, as Leon squeezed every ounce of energy out of himself to push past the exhausted Iturraspe, Mourinho didn’t even blink.

All he could do was silently hope Leon had just enough in the tank to make it count.

The crowd held its breath, all eyes glued to the two players sprinting down Bilbao’s right flank.

Iturraspe couldn’t keep up—he didn’t even dare to exhale, afraid it would break his concentration.

He reached out to foul, but he was too late.

Just as he stretched his arm, Leon burst past him with a simple, direct cut inside.

No fancy footwork, no tricks—just one hard touch and a turn.

Leon didn’t have the technique for slick feints, but this brutal simplicity was what fired up the Bernabéu.

”Go, Little Lion! Go!”

Voices filled with hope echoed from the stands as Leon surged through Bilbao’s half like a battering ram.

He shrugged off Muniain’s grab and stormed into the final third, facing down Javi Martínez.

”I’m probably a mess right now,” Leon thought, breathing hard, sweat mixing with grass stains on his face, hair drenched—looking anything but handsome.

But he had won.

Or at least most of the battle.

His superior stamina was his final weapon.

If he could just run a little faster, hold on a little longer—he might create one last chance for Madrid.

Facing Martínez, he had no confidence of success.

But he charged anyway.

This late in the match, football belonged to the brave and the relentless.

Martínez was brave too. He stepped forward decisively to meet Leon’s wild run.

They collided again, body-to-body.

Leon threw everything he had into shielding the ball, forcing his way past Martínez.

He saw the defender’s steely eyes and felt the sudden, desperate pull on his shoulder.

”I’m going down...”

The thought flashed across Leon’s mind.

He didn’t want to fall. He wanted to give just a little more.

But the tug was too strong—Martínez was giving everything, too.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Leon saw it—a teammate surging ahead.

And just as his body gave out and he began to fall, clarity returned.

In that fleeting moment of lucidity, he summoned all his strength and nudged the ball forward with the instep of his foot—toward the onrushing runner.

As he hit the turf with a thud, Leon let out a grunt.

That final run had drained him. Even if he could keep playing, he’d need at least a minute or two to recover.

Rolling over, he forced himself upright with clenched teeth, bracing his hands against the grass.

And then—an eruption.

The Bernabéu roared, louder than ever.

Leon didn’t even need to look back. The sound said it all.

Before he could turn, Alonso had already charged over and pulled him into a crushing embrace.

”We scored?!”

Leon shouted, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice in the chaos.

Essien and Callejón sprinted back too, both grinning wildly, hugging Leon with all their might.

There was no more doubt.

As Leon’s vision cleared, he saw it.

The entire Bernabéu was bouncing, screaming, exploding with joy.

Madrid’s bench had emptied onto the sideline.

And leading the charge?

That familiar figure sprinting with arms wide open—Cristiano Ronaldo.

Leon reached out, wrapped all three of them in a tight hug, letting them lift and bounce him with raw emotion.

Then, slowly, as strength returned, Leon raised his arm high.

He Wei, already hoarse from celebrating Ronaldo’s last-minute goal, saw Leon’s raised fist and lost control again.

”This is Leon! Resolute Leon! The man who held Real Madrid’s final hope in his hands!

If Leon doesn’t collapse—this winning streak doesn’t end!

¡Hala Madrid!”

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